


Armored Heart

by Cocomademosielle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:48:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocomademosielle/pseuds/Cocomademosielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rowena Cousland and Alistair loses the fight at the Landsmeet, and Logain has them imprisoned, awaiting execution while he leads the Ferelden army against the Archdemon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first foray into fan fiction, originally written in 2009. The original story is somewhere on fan fiction.net, but as I´ve grown somewhat wiser, I´m uploading an edited version here. The story will update every Monday (bare unforeseen events). Please read and review.
> 
> If anyone would like to beta-read, I would love your input.

**_Disclaimer: DA and the setting is the property of Bioware._ **

 

**Chapter one.**

Rowena Cousland regains consciousness just in time to see Arl Eamon die.

He slumps forward, his right hand clutching uselessly his ribs. Blood oozes over his iron clad fingers and spills in a thick stream down his side. There is a sickening, slurping sound as the blade slices in a vicious arch upwards, then Logain twists it around and yanks it free.

The old Arl shudders and coughs and blood mists across her face. He falls to his knees. He sags a little, his shoulders, his eyes, and his mouth and then he falls forward and his head hits the floor with a vicious crack.

For four terrifying heartbeats, the only thing Rowena hears is a white, hissing noise- as if Arl Eamon sucked all the sound and air out of the hall with his dying breath. She manages to gather her scattered wits, but it takes all of her strength to stumble to the Arl´s side. She unbuckles her helmet, kneels and places a hand on his back, a fleeting pressure on his shoulder, but the Arl is beyond the reach of comfort.

Rowena glances to Alistair. His eyes narrows, darkens. She sees something hard and wild in his gaze and for fleeting moment she thinks he´ll do something desperate and stupid and end up dead on the floor as well. The thought makes her own breath grow heavy in her lungs, stifling any words before they even reach her lips.

Her blades slide from her defeated grasp. They rattle to the floor in a loud clatter of steel that seems to break the spell of silence.

“Take the Grey Wardens away,” Logain sneers, “when we have won the battle against the darkspawn, they will be executed.”

Her vision dances in a sickening array of bright colors.

_We lost._

Tears brush salt and blood down her chin to her lips, and it feels as though her heart is trying to burrow its way out of her chest.

And then.

Strong fingers clamps around her arm and the floor grows distant as she is yanked to her feet.

“What about the others?”

“They can join me as we bring our banners to the darkspawn horde and fight with honor, or rot away in the prison, the choice is theirs,” comes the grated answer from across the room.

Rowena remains limp in her captor´s grasp while her mind flickers through all her options. She can still summon some strength. She knows there is more force in her elbow than in her fist, that the neck, the nose or the temple are the weak spots. She knows that if she presses her foot hard down on the man’s thighs she can immobilize him, if only for a moment. She knows that that an equally strong pressure on his neck or chest can kill him.

_Fight,_ a small voice urges, _move. Do something._

Iron snaps around her wrists and a guard pulls her hands to her back and secures them.

“The Landsmeet is over. If anybody else cares to join these Grey Wardens speak now, I shall broker no threats or attempts of vainglory from any. The darkspawn is our foe and only united shall we be victorious!”

Loghain’s voice slices through the hall, and eager voices murmurs in agreement. A few people shuffle their feet, but there are none who speaks in their defense.

His heavy cloak brushes over the floorboards as Loghain crosses the distance to the throne. He sinks back against the throne, his fingers digging into the elegant woodwork. Anger still lurks in his eyes as he regards her with sullen distaste.

“Take them away.”

Rowena twists her head to the right, averting her gaze but she sees Anora instead, standing next to her father, sapphire blue eyes in a pale face, her sharp teeth visible as she smiles. By her side she sees Wynne, two tiny droplets of tears clinging to her trembling eyelashes. Behind her is Leliana, wringing her hands.

“Rowena!”

Alistair’s voice is thick with grief and he pulls against the arms restraining him. His eyes lock on hers, searching, pleading.

_I’m sorry!_

Rowena glances away from his brown eyes, forcing her eyes to the floor, to the tip of her boots. Water stings her eyes.

_I’m so sorry._

The guard drags her forward and she stumbles after them. A few paces behind Alistair follows, cursing and fighting against his captors.

She cannot avoid looking at  Arl Eamon’s body as the guards herds her out off the hall. Blood is still pooling under his body. She sees Teagan at the edge of the crowd, Isolde clawing on his arm and heavy sobs rocking her body. His face is ashen and his mouth slack.

They are escorted across the city towards the prison and through its tall halls to a cell; very similar to the one they just escaped from. The guards push them into the room, and Rowena stumbles to her knees, hard enough to bruise.

The door is slammed shut behind them with a deafening clang, keys rattling as the locks clicks in place.

And then it is silent and utterly dark again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See chapter one. Please read and review. Rated M.

 

**Chapter 2.**

 

Her mind swims with red and the only thing she is aware is the roaring sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Rowena is dimly aware of Alistair clutching her shoulders and trying to stir her back to reality, but his words aren´t making any sense.

 

Her mind flees, darting to some deep, warm corner of her mind where her parents are still alive, where Oriana and Fergus are safe and little Oren runs about the castle- where they are all together at Highever. She wants to stay in this memory, tucked away in the warmth of her mother’s arms and her father’s love. Then she never knew of the Blight, never fought darkspawn or dreamt of the Archdemon. That nobody ever looked to her to save Ferelden.

 

She wishes, not for the first time by far, that Duncan had not dragged her away from Highever that night when Howe´s men attacked.

 

That she had stayed and died with her parents.

 

Rowena feels a sudden, sharp sting, pain blossoms across her cheek and then-

 

\- her vision re-solidifies and hurtles her out of her thoughts which such force it feels as though she´s going to be sick.may﷽﷽﷽﷽﷽﷽﷽ough sheer ed by  Howe

 

Alistair is looking at her, fear incarnated in his usual mirth-filled eyes.

 

“You hit me.”

 

“I am sorry,” Alistair murmurs and reaches out a hand to touch her chin where redness is spreading across her skin as blood rushes through the thin veins. “I tried to talk to you, but you didn´t seem to notice me.”

 

His touch is sends coils of heat down her spine to her stomach, settling there, warm and heavy and solid. She shakes her head and steers her heart to safer territory.

 

“Don’t touch me.”

 

She moves across the room, as far away from him as their cell allows, surveying the room with growing apprehension.

 

Their cell is tiny, barley wider than the length of her arms if she spreads them out, and high upon the wall, several meters above them, is a small, slated window that emits a thin stream of grey light.

 

There’s no way to escape.

 

“We’re in Fort Drakon,” Alistair offers unhelpfully.

 

“I would never have guessed,” Rowena replies, “thank you for stating the obvious.”

 

Alistair’s hands clenches into brief fists and his eyes narrows to slits. “This is all your-“ he starts in the same tone of voice he had used when he confronted her about Connor’s death at his mother’s hands.

“- my fault?” Rowena snarls defensively, spinning around to face him.

If he wants to quarrel, he’ll have it.She’ll not let him put this on her, not this as well.  He made her the leader of their…. group, their band of misfits.

 

He put every decision into her hands.

 

“You were the one who suddenly decided to rise “to responsibility” of being king after insisting, ever since Redcliff, that you never wanted the throne. Where did this sudden ambition come from? If not for you, Anora might have remained Queen and we’d have our army to face the Archdemon with.”

 

“That’s not….”

 

He opens his mouth, and closes it again. Then he balls his hands into fists and turns away, ducking his face to hide his emotions.

 

But Alistair has always been a book to her. She can read a hundred little things in the taunt set of his shoulders, the way his hands are grasping his elbows, as if he´s trying to keep a leash on his anger.

 

 

He twists around and his eyes are hard, flinty and his voice is laced with such thick malice that Rowena is certain he no longer is the same the same man she has travelled with since Ostagar.

 

“She tried to have us all killed! How can you just ignore that!”

 

“And you could not see the bigger picture. What did her feint play at political prowess matter if we could have united the Landsmeet against the darkspawn?”

 

“Then you should have let me faced Loghain in the duel. I would not have lost. Because of you, Arl Eamon is dead.”

 

How _dare he._

 

She leaps at him with a vicious snarl, her vision spinning red. Rowena barely registers the annoyed grunt Alistair emits as her fist bangs against his chest with all the power of somebody accustomed to using speed, and not strength, when fighting. She kicks his shin, familiar with Fergus’ cries of pain when she’d employed similar tactics when they fought as children. She has always been small and skinny, but she knows all the dirty tricks to fighting against a man much stronger and bigger than her.

 

“This is” she gasps, bringing her fists against his chest again and again “not my fault!”

 

Suddenly, she feels his arm hook around her waist, yanking her forward and dislodging her from her attacks- and then Rowena finds herself bracketed against his chest. She can hear his rapid heartbeat thundering beneath his chest bone. His embrace around her tightens as he presses her closer.

 

Her rage thaws, strained against the unexpected embrace and their sudden proximity.

 

She shuts her eyes so tight she sees stars.

_Please don’t...._ but she isn´t quite sure what she doesn´t want him to do.

 

Then she feels his chin resting on the top of her head and the thought of them wrapped together so intimately sends heat rushing to her face.

_Just let me go._

_  
_“Rowena,” Alistair sighs and she feels his warm breath send shivers down her neck. For a moment her mind protests that he should not be able to elicit such a response in her, not…not now when´s so angry at him and she thanks the Maker that her expression is hidden against his chest.

 

“I am sorry, I really did not mean to put it all on you,” Alistair murmurs quietly against her hair. Rowena twists her fingers into his faded tunic, as if to draw him even closer or keep him at bay.

 

“Through all this I’ve let you make….all the hard decisions and you’ve never failed us” there is a tender honesty in his voice, even optimism.

 

For a moment she doesn´t know how to respond.

 

All she can do think to do, pressed so hopelessly close to him in the small cell is to wrap her own arms around his waist.

 

She feels him stiffen slightly at the sudden gesture and she makes to pull away, only to feel a content sigh as he exhales out in relief and hugs her to his chest.

 

Rowena is painfully aware that the thumping of her own heartbeat is growing embarrassingly loud. It is absurd to feel such sensuality, wrapped together in a small prison cell, await execution while the Blight spreads across Ferelden.

 

She cannot quite hear the words he says, only feel the murmur through his body from his stomach, making him tremble as he speaks to the crown of her head. She´s never been wrapped up in an embrace like this. It makes her stomach tilts expectantly at implication and it makes her quiver in anticipation of what comes next.

 

Alistair must have felt it for he pulls away, his brows creasing in concern.

 

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

 

Her head jerks up to catch his gaze, before she finds refuge in hiding her blush against his chest again.

 

“Nothing” she stammers, tightening her arms around him to still her trembling body.

 

But now she can feel Alistair shiver and Rowena is confident that he will finally force apart the embrace, but then he relaxes against her again.

 

She is suddenly afraid that her body will betray her and she makes to pull away, carefully sliding her hand down the length of side to break free from his embrace. Suddenly Alistair freezes in her arms and Rowena is painfully aware that it is her unintended caress that has caused it.

 

She turns her head to the side in an effort to gain enough distance to put her thoughts and raging emotions under enough control so she´s able to string together a coherent sentence. She twists a little in his arms, brushing her chest unintentionally against his.

 

But Alistair is abruptly aware that the other person he has pressed against him is not only his fellow Grey Warden,  that she is soft and warm in the cold cell, and very female in ways that only his guilt-ridden thoughts would admit.

 

As Rowena jerks her head to the side to break free, he suddenly dips his chin down to meet her lips in a clumsy kiss. Her hand falters against his back and her eyelids flutters open in evident surprised. His aim almost misses and for a brief moment it seems like he´ll bang his head against hers, when she had does the unexpected and manoeuvres her head just enough for them to properly meet.

 

And suddenly, the Blight doesn´t matter as much as all necessity to remove the barriers of clothing that separates their skins.

 

 

 


End file.
